Calais 1832 What kind of maniac tries to cure an attack
of the hiccups by setting himself on fire?
The answer is lying in a pain and brandy induced swoon with half his body the colour of “ a
newly singed bacon-hog.”
As he deliriously points out however, his hiccups have disappeared.
John Mytton’s remedies for life’s little inconveniences are nothing if not suicidally
excessive.
Which is probably why even his closet friends refer to him as “Mad” Jack.
The poor fellow’s only 37 but he looks one hundred years older.
A lifetime of biblical boozing, unfettered extravagance and total disregard for personal
wellbeing has left him a sad, bloated wreckage.
In his day however, he was one of England’s finest (and richest) sporting gentlemen, a
Member of Parliament and the most fearless gambler ever to bet upon the turn of a card.
Now he’s hiding from a battalion of creditors in a French garret with a woman he bumped
into on Westminster Bridge and offered £500 to be his companion.
You cant help but feel sorry for him., Born into more money than God makes, John
was heir to Halson Hall in Shropshire and had a wild temperament even as child.
By the age of ten he had his own pack of hounds and had been nicknamed “Mango, King of the
Pickles” by his neighbours because he was so wilful and full of mischief.
He was expelled from one school for fighting with the masters and lasted three days at
another before being asked to leave.
The long suffering parade of private tutors his mother employed, valiantly fought to squeeze
some knowledge into the head of a lad who wanted none of it and were often the victims
of his practical jokes.
One learned man entered his boudoir at the end of a long day to find a horse which John
had led up several flights of stairs staring back at him over the bed linen.
Despite having no academic qualifications or inclination, John was accepted at Cambridge
University and arrived at the start of term with 2000 bottles of port to see him through
until the holidays.
Not surprisingly, he found university life boring and left to travel Europe on The Grand
Tour.
Returning home without any cultural enlightenment whatsoever he enlisted in the army and spent
1814 in Paris heroically wearing a handsome uniform while drinking and gambling himself
dans une stupeur . The harsh demands of military life not being
for him he returned again to England and considered a political career.
He managed to get himself elected MP for Shropshire by offering ten pounds to everyone who voted
for him.
£10,000 later he took his seat in Parliament but left after half an hour, never to return
because it was full of stuffy old gents doing nothing but talking and the weather was nice
outside.
At the age of 21 he came into his full enormous inheritance and from then on had the wherewithal
to devote his life to five simple interests 1 FIGHTING
John was built like a prizefighter and loved nothing more than a good scrap.
Once while hunting hares, a powerfully built coal miner accidentally disturbed the proceedings
and John immediately challenged him to a bare knuckle boxing match.
The two pummelled each other for twenty rounds until the miner cried “Uncle” at which
Jack gave him ten shillings and told him to go into town and get drunk.
On another occasion he thought it would be amusing to swap clothes with a beggar, ring
his doorbell and plead for charity from his own servants.
Not recognising their master, the servants tried to throw him off the doorstep at which
he attacked them and knocked two to the ground.
Still not seeing the funny side, they set the dogs on him.
This was probably not much of an issue for John as when he wasn’t sparring with people,
he was rumoured to be fond of taking on angry bulldogs with his bare hands.
They say he punched one to death and held another aloft in his mouth, suspending it
above the ground using just the strength of his jaws.
2.
HUNTING If it flew, walked, crawled or slithered Mytton
would hunt it, but his favourite quarries were foxes and ducks-and occasionally rats.
When hunting he always wore light, thin clothing, whatever the weather.
Driving rain or freezing snow his wardrobe hardly changed.
Although he never seemed to mind (or notice) if his clothes were soaking wet or frozen
stiff, the fact he owned 150 pairs of breeches ,700 pairs of boots and over 1000 hats meant
he always had something to change into later.
That said, he often became so overcome with the excitement of the chase he’d strip off
all his clothes and continue the hunt with his tackle hanging out, much to his companions
consternation.
His sturdy constitution was such that he was known to plunge his horse into the raging
torrents of the River Severn in pursuit of one fox and continue to pursue another even
after he had fallen from his horse and broken several ribs.
On many occasions he’d wake in the middle of the night, decide he was bored and slip
out of the house naked but for his favourite gun in order to hunt ducks.
Once he had bagged a few he would go back to bed.
One winter he parked his naked backside on a frozen lake for an hour while slowly shuffling
to where he thought the ducks were hiding.
How he never caught a chill or froze his bollocks off at the very least I’ll never know.
3.
DRINKING John used to get through eight bottles of
the finest port every day.
He’d down the first one while he was shaving before breakfast.
– since moving to France he’s maintained this routine only with brandy.
Supplementing his port diet with wine, ale, hazelnuts and bacon, his almost constant state
of inebriation has led to him making some baffling decisions.
He once bought a brown bear and a monkey from a travelling show for £35 and installed them
at Halson Hall.
He named the bear “Nell” and drunkenly attended his friend Appleby’s dinner party
sat astride her, dressed in his hunting pinks.
She angrily bit his calf but John was magnanimous and refused to punish her.
Sadly when she savaged one of his luckless servants he had no choice but to have her
destroyed.
The monkey became a slave to port and would often join Mytton for a tipple.
Sadly, he also passed away after mistaking a bottle of boot blacking for a fine vintage
and accidentally poisoning himself.
While he was in his cups, John was never violent but his pranks could cause distress.
At the end of one evening his dinner guests– a sour faced parson and a local doctor – had
said their farewells and were riding home.
On a whim, John disguised himself as a highwayman and filled two pistols with powder but no
ball before bursting out of the trees in front of them shouting “Stand and Deliver.”
Inspired by their terrified expressions he then fired a volley over their heads and chased
the pair to Oswestry.
On another occasion he was returning from the Newmarket races counting his substantial
winnings when he passed out in his carriage with the window wide open.
As he snored, a strong gust of wind blew the banknotes out of his hand and scattered several
thousand pounds across the Shropshire countryside.
This bothered him not a jot. 4.
RACING John has no fear of injury, in fact many say
he actually enjoys having accidents.
One certainly needs to be of a stout constitution to share a carriage with him.
He drives along winding country lanes at breakneck speed without knowledge or care of what lies
ahead.
He once rode his horse straight over a rabbit warren just to see what would happen – he
fell off.
He once attempted to see if a two horse gig could clear a tollgate.
It could not and while the two horses strained against their harnesses on one side, he and
the wide eyed owner of the gig remained stranded on the other.
His friend Appleby tells me that one afternoon they were driving down a country lane when
John asked him he had ever been in a gig which had overturned.
He replied that he had not “thank God” to which John shouted “What a damned slow
fellow you must have been all your life!” and deliberately tipped the pair into a ditch.
He was as reckless riding a horse as he was driving a pair.
Back in 26’ he galloped a fine filly up the staircase of the Bedford Hotel in Leamington
Spa, jumped her from the balcony over the heads of the stupefied diners below, through
the window opposite and out into the street.
He did love horses though and allowed his favourite, “Baronet” the run of his house,
even curling up with him, in front of the fire on cold winter evenings.
(The less said about his horse “Sportsman” who died after John fed him a bowel of mulled
port the better) 5.
SPENDING John inherited a vast sum of money – £60,000
with an annual income of £10,000 – and he managed to spend it all and amass vast
debts in a little over fifteen years.
Along with his extravagant eating and drinking and clothes shopping and gambling John has
absolutely no concept of the value of money and we would often find banknotes and coin
absentmindedly scattered throughout his estate.
He also spent vast amounts on his 2000 dogs and 60 cats which he fed on steak and champagne
and dressed in little costumes.
When the bailiffs were knocking at the door, his financial agent told him that he could
still remain solvent if he lived on £6000 a year for the next six years.
“ I wouldn’t give a damn to live on £6,000 a year!” he cried and fled to France.
So here we are.
He now has precious little in the way of funds and if he returns to England they’ll throw
him in the Fleet.
But last night, in the grip of a brandy sodden attack of the hiccups he rejects drinking
a glass of water upside down or holding his breath and decides instead to scare the condition
away.
Taking a lighted candle he carefully applied it to the hem of his nightshirt and was engulfed
in flames, becoming a hiccupping human bonfire.
If we hadn’t beat the fire out he would surely have been consumed, but he seems not
to have grasped the danger in which he had placed himself.
I’ve heard it said that Johns life is “A series of suicide attempts” and perhaps
that’s true.
Despite all of his japes and high jinks I don’t think he has ever been truly happy
and has spent his entire life searching for an elusive goal I doubt he will ever find.
He’s been married twice, but one wife died and the other ran away.
As for his children, apart from tossing them into the air and pelting them with oranges
when they were small, he has had little to do with them.
I do hope he doesn’t babble out what remains of his life in some prison or sanatorium,
but I fear that will ultimately be his fate.
As for me, I will endeavour never to hiccup in his presence, particularly if we’re sharing
a carriage.